Silver Anniversary Murder Page 18

  “They can wait, can’t they? Your first obligation is to the Lord your God, isn’t it?” persisted Grace, with the stubborn attention of a dog gnawing a bone. “It’s a question of your salvation, your immortal soul.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it like that,” said Lucy, losing hope.

  “Here you can serve the Lord,” added Terry.

  “You’ll find such happiness, here with us,” said Grace.

  “You will stay a little longer, won’t you?” pressed Terry.

  Lucy didn’t see that she had a choice. “Well, if you insist.”

  “We do,” said Grace. “Now, I suppose you’re hungry? You didn’t touch your soup.”

  “Well, rather,” admitted Lucy.

  “Good. Because we’re going to have a wonderful meal together tonight,” said Terry. “But first, we have to work to earn our daily bread. You don’t mind, do you? Just some housekeeping. We all pitch in.”

  Terry made it sound like they would be doing a little light dusting, but Lucy discovered the reality was quite different. She was brought back to the dining hall, where there were a half dozen people busy lifting and moving the tables and chairs to one side of the room, where they piled them up. Seeing the newcomers, the workers paused and formed a loose line, heads bowed.

  “We have a new member joining us today,” said Grace, who seemed to have a position of authority. “This is Lucy.”

  “Welcome, Lucy, hello, Lucy.” Heads still bowed, the workers spoke in unison. Lucy noticed that these people were not well dressed, like Terry and Grace, and appeared to be thin and undernourished.

  “Umm, let’s have Hagar and Zeke, please,” Grace said.

  Two of the workers stepped forward. Hagar was barely out of her teens, and her lank hair fell over her eyes. She was wearing black leggings and a man’s flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her arms were very white, and Lucy could see the blue veins beneath her skin. Zeke was tall and bearded, pushing forty, and was wearing a ripped T-shirt and worn jeans.

  “Hagar and Zeke are two of our most devoted, hardworking members,” said Grace.

  The compliment seemed to fall on deaf ears as Hagar and Zeke showed no reaction whatever, but kept their heads bowed.

  “They will show you what to do, Lucy. And remember, hands to work and hearts to God.” She raised her hands in blessing. “God bless you in your labor.” Then her voice hardened. “Back to work, everyone.”

  The work, as Lucy discovered, was to clear one side of the large dining hall so the floor could be cleaned on their knees with scrub brushes, and dried with old towels. Then the furniture was replaced and the floor on the other side of the room was scrubbed. When that side was dry, all the tables and chairs were replaced.

  As she worked along with Zeke and Hagar, Lucy tried to initiate some sort of conversation, but neither one would speak to her. It was very odd, she thought, becoming aware that all the workers were silent. This was nothing like the work parties Lucy had participated in back in Tinker’s Cove, setting up for a craft fair or bake sale, where everyone chatted and laughed together. This was like being in some sort of prison camp, although Lucy didn’t see any guards keeping watch on them.

  “Well, that’s done then,” said Lucy, when the job was finished.

  Hagar’s eyes grew wide, and she gave her head an almost imperceptible little shake, warning Lucy.

  Sure enough, the stern woman named Elizabeth had returned and they all formed a line again, heads bowed. Lucy was feeling rebellious, and dared to look Elizabeth in the eye.

  “Lucy, please step forward.”

  This was completely crazy, thought Lucy, taking that forward step. She felt like she did a zillion years ago, when she got caught checking out a classmate’s answers on a multiplication test, looking for the answer to seven times eight.

  “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear, but here we work in silence. Work is worship and an opportunity for sustained prayer. Do you understand?”

  Lucy nodded.

  “You may return to your place.”

  Lucy stepped back, joining the line.

  “I will now inspect your work.” Elizabeth walked around the perimeter of the room, checking that the tables and chairs were in the correct position. Then she dropped to her knees in one of the corners and scratched at the floor with a finger. Rising, she returned to face the workers waiting for her verdict.

  “I am well pleased,” she said, bestowing the group with a lukewarm smile. “You may go to the chapel to give thanks for serving the Lord so well.”

  The group filed out of the dining hall and through the corridor to the chapel. Lucy kept her head bowed, but managed to catch a glimpse of the entrance, hoping to make a dash for it. Unfortunately, it was guarded by Matthew and Luke, those two large, muscular youths in white robes. Fighting back tears, she took a seat along with the other workers in one of the pews, and offered a silent prayer. “Please, Lord, help me get out of here.”

  After a while, and many repetitions of her prayer, a bell sounded and the group rose to return to the dining hall, which was fragrant with the scent of beef stew. Lucy was starving, after working so hard, and eagerly joined the line in front of a cafeteria style serving window. As the group shuffled along, she saw people carrying plates loaded with meat and vegetables to the tables, where they sat down. They didn’t begin to eat, but sat with heads bowed, probably waiting for everyone to be served and grace to be said. Servers moved among them, filling glasses with water.

  By the time Lucy and the others in the work party got to the window, they were told that there was very little stew left. The workers were given large scoops of rice and a small spoonful of meaty stew, but by the time it was Lucy’s turn there was only rice, and not much of that. She was given the pot scrapings, which amounted to only a few dibs and dabs of burnt rice.

  Somewhat incredulous, she carried her mostly empty plate to the last vacant seat and sat down. Head bowed, she waited, looking enviously at the well-filled plates of the other diners. Terry appeared behind her, carrying a pitcher of water, but she only filled Lucy’s glass halfway. “You’re so fortunate, we envy you,” said Terry. “Fasting will rid your body of vice and corruption. Praise be.”

  Father Gabe did not appear at the meal. Elizabeth rose and gave the blessing, which was mercifully brief. The meal was eaten in silence, and Lucy chewed slowly, making the most of her meager meal. While she ate she tried to decide whether the kitchen had really run out of food or if it had been purposely denied to her as some form of punishment. The pot had indeed been empty, but there were plenty of other pots and they might have contained food.

  After chasing the last clump of charred rice around her plate, and swallowing the bit of water remaining in her glass, Lucy waited to see what came next. She figured she would probably be assigned to cleanup after the meal, but instead was taken downstairs to the cellar by Matthew. There she was introduced to Philip, who was a chubby fellow in a white robe.

  Philip had an easy smile and a twinkle in his eye, reminding Lucy of Friar Tuck, so she was hopeful that this job would be an improvement. Perhaps she would have to stuff envelopes, or apply stamps, or something like that. Instead, Philip pointed out a big pile of boxes that he said had just been delivered and told her to move them to a counter where they could be unpacked. Lucy didn’t think this job would be much of a problem as she considered herself to be quite strong from working in the garden and doing housework. She obediently grabbed one of the boxes, only to discover it was very heavy. Much heavier than the big bags of dog chow she hauled home to feed the dog, heavier even than the bags of mulch she spread on her flower beds, or the cat litter she kept in the car in winter in case she got stuck on an icy road.

  She managed to move the box, but it took all her strength and left her weak and panting. “Uh, Philip, do you have a dolly or something I could use? These boxes are really very heavy.”

  “Sorry,” he said, eyes on a computer screen. “Hands to work, hearts t
o God.”

  “Well, this work is going to give me a heart attack,” said Lucy.

  He turned and faced her, the twinkle in his eye definitely gone. “If that’s the Lord’s will, so it will be.”

  She bent to her task, grabbing another box from the stack, placing it on the floor so she could slide it across the floor. That got an instant, angry response from Philip.

  “Is this the way you treat the word of the Lord?” he demanded.

  “Is that what’s in the boxes? Bibles?”

  “Yours is not to reason why, or to ask questions,” he snapped. “Yours is but to do or die.”

  Lucy felt a wave of hysteria rising in her chest; this was ridiculous. “That’s not from the Bible, you know. You’re paraphrasing “The Charge of the Light Brigade.” It’s by Tennyson.”

  “Ah, who do you think you are?” demanded Philip, picking up a yardstick and slapping it against his hand in a threatening way. “You’re a worm, a lowly sinner, and we are striving to save your soul. So get to work.”

  Lucy got the message: work or be beaten. She bent to pick up the box, but now it was on the floor and that much harder to lift. She struggled with it, trying to jimmy one side up so she could slide her hands under it, but the box was unmoveable. Out of breath from exertion, she looked at Philip, wordlessly expressing her difficulty, but he was every bit as stubborn as the box. She tried again, this time succeeding in lifting the carton a few inches off the floor, but it slipped out of her hands and dropped with a thud. By now, she was quite light-headed. She tried to stand, but everything went black and down she went.

  When she came to she was back in the room with the cot. Scrambling to her feet, she felt dizzy, but fought to stay upright. She reeled across the room, grabbing the chair to steady herself, and made it to the door. She reached for the knob but it refused to turn. This time, the door was locked.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lucy’s first impulse was to yell and bang on the door with her fists, demanding to be released, but something made her hesitate. For one thing, she was alone, which hadn’t been the case so far, and her head was clearing. She was hungry and thirsty, to be sure, but the dizziness was subsiding and she figured that whatever they were drugging her with was wearing off. She decided to use this time—which might be brief, since she suspected that she was probably being observed—to do some thinking.

  Just in case there was a peephole or even CCTV recording her every move, she figured she’d give the watchers a little show. Pretending to still be confused and dizzy, she staggered across the little room and made a show of collapsing onto the bed and passing out. The trick, she realized, was to stay awake while pretending to be asleep. She flipped over to face the wall, and that way was able to keep her eyes open.

  Her mind was slow and sluggish as she tried to figure out how long she’d been held captive. She’d arrived at the storefront church on midmorning on Thursday, had met with Father Gabe, and attended a service followed by a meal. That probably brought her to early afternoon, when she’d passed out, probably from something in the supposedly healthful herb tea. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, and since all the windows in the mission’s interior were blocked, she had no idea whether it was day or night. Adding up the various periods of work and the prayer services she’d been obliged to attend, her best guess was that it was probably now Thursday night or even Friday morning.

  If only Bill hadn’t changed his plans, she thought, as tears stung her eyes. If he were coming for the weekend, as they originally planned, he would find the Airbnb apartment empty and would sound the alarm, instituting a search for his missing wife. But thanks to Sylvia, that wouldn’t be happening. Still, determined to remain positive, she clung to the hope that he would probably call, and when she didn’t answer might also become concerned. Or, probably more likely, figure that her phone had run out of power, or that she’d turned it off in a theater or someplace and forgotten to reactivate it, which she sometimes did.

  Reluctantly concluding that she couldn’t rely on a white knight to rescue her, Lucy knew she had to get herself out of this situation. Rebellion and resistance would get her exactly nowhere—that seemed clear. Her only hope was to pretend that she was a genuine convert to the cult’s crazy beliefs. If she seemed eager to pray and confess her sins, if she worked willingly and obeyed all the commands, maybe then she’d at least get a square meal. It would take some real acting on her part if she were to convince her guards, but maybe then they would relax their watchfulness and she’d be able to find a way to escape.

  The thing that puzzled her was why the cult wanted to keep her. In her mind she replayed her meeting with Father Gabe, wondering what she’d said that caused him to decide she was a danger to him or to the cult. She remembered that he’d been very interested when she’d said she worked for a newspaper, and she wondered if he thought she was some sort of muckraking journalist intending to expose him. That was one possibility. Another was that he had been involved in some way with Beth’s death, and didn’t want her to continue her investigation. Or maybe this was simply the way the Guardians of the Faith operated. Maybe they lured people in with their pretended friendliness and warmth and then used a variety of techniques to control them and eventually bind them to the cult. She remembered reading a book about Patty Hearst and the techniques the Symbionese Liberation Army used to turn the sheltered heiress into a gun-toting bank robber. It was a chilling thought and she was determined not to let that happen to her. She had to find a way out of the cult.

  But now, her first priority was to get out of this room. She was hungry and thirsty, and more importantly, she really had to pee. Really. So she rolled over on her back, as if waking, rubbed her eyes, and stretched. Playing the part she was assuming to the max, she sat on the side of the bed and bowed her head, softly reciting the Lord’s Prayer. Then she got up, staggered a bit for effect, and went to the door. This time the door opened, and she was met in the hallway by the chubby, tired-looking woman named Ruth.

  Ruth gave her a warm hug. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better,” said Lucy. “I prayed for strength, so that with God’s help I can be a better worker.”

  “Wonderful.” She gave Lucy a big hug. “It’s amazing what we can do with the Lord’s help. I’m sure you’ll find that to be true.”

  “I feel stronger already,” said Lucy. She lowered her voice. “I do have an urgent need to use the toilet, however.”

  “Of course. Follow me.” Ruth led the way to an unmarked door, which when opened revealed a toilet and small sink. Lucy smiled gratefully and stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind her. It didn’t close all the way, however, as Ruth insisted on leaving it slightly ajar. “Just in case you need help. Why just last week one of our new converts passed out and fell right off the seat. It was a good thing I was there to help her.”

  Lucy had no difficulty imagining such a scenario; she felt a bit woozy herself and put it down to hunger, or even drugs. After relieving herself she washed her hands and face and was able to scoop up some water and drink it, which helped her feel better. Thus refreshed, she followed Ruth to the chapel, for yet another prayer service.

  This time, when the worshipers were asked to confess their sins, Lucy stepped forward. Head bowed in a posture of penitence, she admitted to being weak and lazy. “I know that I’ve been stubborn and have resisted the group’s efforts to help me become a better person, and I ask for forgiveness. I hope with God’s help, and with the help of our Lord Jesus Christ, and also the Holy Spirit, but most especially with the group’s help, I shall succeed.”

  Father Gabe stepped forward and placed his hands on her head. “Bless you, Lucy. We welcome you, we embrace you, we will support you in your journey.”

  She was immediately surrounded by the women who had originally welcomed her so warmly: Elizabeth, Charity, Grace, Ruth, and Terry. They joined a circle around her and sang a hymn of thanksgiving, then led her back to a pew where th
ey sat with her. Then, once again, the service became a light show, with flashing strobes and thumping rock music. Lucy felt quite light-headed when it finally ended and they shuffled off to the dining hall, where she hoped and prayed she would receive more than a dab of rice and a quarter cup of water.

  This time she was not at the end of the line, but the group of women shepherded her right to the front, where she was given a big scoop of brown rice with a couple of fried eggs and a cup of tea. She watched carefully as her cup was filled, fearing it might be doctored with drugs as before, and was reassured when she saw that the others also received tea from the same pot. They were quite a jolly group as they seated themselves together at the table, and Lucy had the strange feeling that she’d been admitted to the popular girl’s table in the high school lunchroom. The meal was eaten in silence, but there were lots of smiles and winks among the women. As before, she was assigned to cleanup after the meal, and this time Terry was in charge of the work party.

  Lucy waited with the other workers as the dining hall emptied and the cult members went off to their various jobs. She recognized Hagar and Zeke, as well as some of the others, who were clearly of a lower status in the cult than the women she’d been sitting with. She was trying to work all this out, wondering why these people were consigned to menial jobs like cleaning, and was unsure if she was still considered one of them and would have to scrub the floor on her knees.

  It was her old friend Terry who provided the answer when, instead of ordering Lucy to begin shifting the tables, gave her a spray bottle of cleaner and a rag. “You and I will clean the tables, then the others will move them to one side and clean the floor.”

  “Praise be,” said Lucy, getting right to work and polishing the Formica table until it shone.

  “I see you’re beginning to understand the value of work as a form of prayer,” said Terry.